Winning Isn't Everything
by Noie84
Summary: When Liz becomes a success in Los Angeles, she still misses Jack...
1. Chapter 1

It never would have worked out. It's what she tells herself at least when she gathers the courage to walk into Jack's office and announce, as calmly as possible, her plans to quit _TGS_ to start a new show for AMC that will be filmed in Los Angeles.

"You always said I should go 'get mine' and that _TGS _is a sinking ship so…"

He's stunned when looks at her, and he pauses for a moment before he speaks. "Yes. I've always said that. There's no reason why you should spend the rest of your career wallowing in mediocrity."

"Great! So this is a good thing, right? We should celebrate?" She asks, with a false upbeat sense of cheer.

He nods, but is not quite able to meet her gaze. "I'll crack open a bottle of champagne."

He doesn't say goodbye to her when she leaves. Well, not really. They have sex two days before her flight. It was a rushed and messy tryst surrounded by boxes on her living room floor. She's never good at censoring her thoughts during sex with Jack, which is why she blurted out a hushed, "I'll miss you" against his chest afterwards. He didn't say anything for a few moments – the thick, awkward silence making her feel foolish for saying anything at all.

Finally, he responded with, a dry, detached, "No you won't."

So, it wasn't the most satisfying goodbye.

It is probably for the best, she reasons. If he truly cared for her – if this truly meant to be something more than random sex with an employee – he wouldn't be so cavalier about her moving across the country. So in way, she's proud of herself for not putting her career on hold on the off chance this thing with Jack would actually become something significant.

Before he left her apartment that night, though, she grabbed his tie and gave him one final kiss. She prolonged the kiss for as long as she could – knowing this would probably be the last time she'll be able to be with him like this. Jack, for his part, never objected to the kiss's duration and even pulled her closer, let his mouth open to fully meet hers as he gently touched her cheek. The kiss would have been incredibly romantic in any other context, but Liz was painfully aware of how their dysfunctional dynamic was a far cry from an actual legitimate relationship.

When he finally did break apart, though, he turned to leave, muttered a curt, "Good luck, Lemon," and walked out the door.

That was a year ago. She hasn't heard form him since.

Which is why, she's more than a little panicked about attending the Emmys this year. Not only is she nominated, but she's going to see her ex-boss/friend/dude she used to have sex with and she has _no _idea what one wears under the circumstances. As a woman who frequently combusts under the smallest amounts of pressure in social situations, she has no clue how to handle Sunday's events.

Finally, after much deliberation and googling "formal dresses for pear shaped 40 year old bodies" she settles on a dark plum strapless number that makes her boobs look pretty awesome. That's something, at least.

She also doesn't have a date. She_ should_ have a date. A circumstance like this practically mandates one. She's in her office, looking at her rolodex (she hasn't gotten around to digitizing her contact list yet. It's on her to-do list) of possible men she's met since being in LA that she doesn't find completely revolting. None of them are suitable. She plucks out each card one by one and tosses them aside when she verbally writes them off. "Married. Gay. Crazy. Creepy."

So she's going stag. She can do this. And if anybody asks why she's there alone she can toss away some quip about feminism and people will find her witty and hilarious. Yep. Good plan.

Well, she ends up winning the damn thing. And it is kind of amazing to be up there alone, with all these people looking at her like she matters. The award is given to her by Stephen Colbert and when he escorts her backstage, he whispers in her ear that he's a big fan. So the whole experience has a certain surreal element of cool to it and for a moment, she actually feels like the successful, confident woman she knows she should be.

Initially, she didn't plan on mentioning Jack in her speech. But before she can censor herself she concludes her acceptance speech by saying, "And finally, I'd like to thank my former boss and friend, Jack. If it wasn't for his annoying and relentless encouragement I would not be here." The line garners some chuckles from those in the crowd that know (and fear) Jack, and she thinks, if nothing else, he would probably appreciate being acknowledged on national television.

Interestingly enough, though, she doesn't even see Jack during the actual ceremony and thinks that perhaps he decided not to attend this year. She wonders if he deliberately skipped on the events this year because of her, and she's surprised at how much that possibility upsets her.

When she arrives at the Governor's Ball after the ceremony, she feels kind of awkward. Mostly because she's standing at the bar waiting for a drink, and she's still clutching her Emmy, which is starting to put some strain on her arm muscles. She contemplates leaving it at her table, but wonders if it may get stolen. Do people steal Emmys at this thing? Probably not, her name is engraved on it, after all. But people are jerks (especially in LA), so she decides to keep holding onto the stupid trophy just in case. It is in the middle of her realizing that she has managed to turn winning a freakin' Emmy award into an annoying and irritating experience that she hears a low voice rumble in her ear.

"You thanked me. I didn't think you would."

Her stomach drops and face flushes at the familiar voice. "Well, I'm not a total ingrate." When she turns, she sucks in a breath at his unexpectedly close proximity.

"Congratulations." His fingers lightly brush against her hip and he gives a chaste kiss on the cheek. Even this slight innocent display of affection is enough to make Liz recall all the times when his hands were doing things to her that were much more explicit and she's annoyed at how pathetically vulnerable she feels in his presence.

"Thanks, Jack."

His hand casually gestures to the Emmy, "That must be heavy. Go have a seat. I'll bring you a drink."

Liz nods, grateful that she can now avoid the throng of people waiting at the bar, but is mostly focused on the fact that Jack clearly wants to spend time with her tonight. She is more than okay with this.

Back at her table, she begins to chat with some of the stars of her show but frowns when she sees a beautiful blonde fawning all over Jack. She attempts to surreptitiously observe the flirting, but she doesn't pull that off for very long because when Jack's eyes meet hers across the room, she immediately looks away and then cringes at being so desperately transparent.

She immediately goes back to engaging in conversation with one of the producers in an attempt to get her mind off Jack. They're not together. He can flirt with how many skanks he wants. Hell, that's probably a major reason why he comes to these things. Because what is LA but a virtual breeding ground for meaningless skank sex?

"I assume you still favor Pinot Griogo?" He murmurs, effectively interrupting her conversation.  
"Oh. Yeah. I still do. Thanks." She takes the glass of wine he offers and is pleasantly surprised when Jack sits in the vacant seat beside her. "Bruce, this is Jack Donaghy. He was my boss back at NBC."

Jack reaches across Liz to shake the other man's hand, and her spine straightens when Jack's other hand casually drapes across Liz's shoulders. The two engage in a civil conversation, but Liz is too busy focusing on Jack's fingertips on the curve of her shoulder to pay much attention.

When Bruce politely excuses himself, Jack and Liz are left alone at the table and she's amazed that she can't quite figure out what to say even though she's spent four years of her life sharing almost everything with each other.

"So how does it feel? To be successful?" Jack finally asks, breaking the silence.

"Not going to lie, Jack. It feels pretty awesome to write for a show that isn't deemed 'an unwatchable mess' by En_tertainment Weekly_."

"Then this calls for a toast." He lifts up his glass and says, "to creating something that isn't a national embarrassment." Their glasses clink; her eyes beam at Jack's affectionate grin.

That was their first drink of the night. By the time they reach their fifth drink, it is a couple hours later and Liz is in his arms dancing to Michael Buble crooning in the background. The champagne has gone straight to her head and she's letting him lead her across the dance floor unreservedly. The moment is bittersweet because she knows that the exhilaration she's feeling right now is fleeting. Because in a few hours Jack will be on a flight back to New York and she doesn't know when – or if – she'll ever see him again. This realization causes the smile plastered across her face to falter.

"What's wrong?" He asks, immediately noticing the shift in her demeanor.

She shakes her head, not wanting to end their night on an unnecessarily sour note. "Nothing." She shrugs nonchalantly. "Just a little tired from the booze and excitement."

Jack hesitates for a moment, pulls her in close before suggesting, "I could take you home."

"What about the blonde? Wouldn't you want to stay and flirt? The night is still young for you."

"That woman threw herself at me in a desperate attempt to get an acting job. I'm not interested in being complicit in a form of prostitution." He brings his lips to her ear and whispers, "What I _am_ interested in making sure you get home safely."

She sucks in a breath and nods, "Well, okay then. Home it is."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Jack escorts her out of the ballroom; one of his hands rests on the small of her back, while the other holds her Emmy. When her limo pulls up to the curb, Jack motions for the driver to stay put so he can open the door for her himself, which causes Liz to flash him an appreciative grin in response.

Once they both get situated in their seats, she turns to him and says with a smirk, "You know, I just realized this is the first time you've gotten into _my_ limo. The tables have turned, my friend."

"It's about time. You're far too talented a writer to be using the subway or other forms of inferior transportation." Normally, Liz would roll her eyes at his ability to make the riding the subway sound like contracting some sort of fatal disease, but she's missed him too much to be able to be her normal sardonic self.

"Well, I could get used to this. The free food, preferential treatment, never having to wait in line for stuff. Did I mention the free food?"

"You did." He smiles.

"I think it bears repeating." She mirrors his grin and suspects she's looking at him with possibly too much adoration, so she forces herself to turn away from his fixated gaze. While she's staring out the window watching the buzzing LA traffic surrounding them, the comfortable silence is suddenly broken when Jack places a warm hand on her upper thigh.

Liz's immediately tenses at the unexpected – but not unwanted contact – and upon noticing her questioning look, Jack asks, "Have you ever had sex in a limo, Lemon?"

His blunt query leaves her paralyzed and unable to articulate any sort of response, but Jack presses on, his hand traveling further up on her thigh. "It could be rather enjoyable. We certainly have enough time until we reach your apartment."

"I thought….we were ignoring that we used to, you know, do it." She manages to whisper as Jack's other hand rests on her hip possessively.

"I don't see why we should." He places a tender kiss on her neck, his hands still touching and caressing her body. "Two attractive people should never ignore their shared sexual history."

"Not true." She mutters. "What if I was seeing somebody?"

Jack pulls away abruptly, as if burned by her question. "_Are _you seeing somebody?"

She's taken aback by his passionate reaction to her glib comment and murmurs an apprehensive, "No. It was a rhetorical question."

"There's no place for rhetorical questions when a man is attempting to seduce you, Liz." This comment does result in a Liz Lemon eye roll. Because, seriously? Where does he come up with this stuff? His condescending comment, though, does not prevent her from acquiescing to his suggestion. Mostly because when she looks down at his big hands on her skin, she instantly remembers how much she's missed him touching her this way (though she half-expects him to come to his senses and pull away from her – she's still not used to a world where Jack Donaghy wants to have sex with her, relishes having sex with her….and, truthfully, she probably never will be).

She clears her throat, convinces herself that capping her night with a healthy dose of celebratory sex will be a good thing. "Alright. I'm in. But what…how…?"

"How do I want you?" He asks, effectively finishing her sentence for her. She nods. Hoisting her up, he gently pulls her onto his lap, his lips brushing against her ear. "Just follow my lead."

So she can now add "back of a limo" to the already lengthy list of places where she's had sex with Jack. He's done her practically everywhere she can imagine (although, he's never made good on his promise to take her to Washington for White House sex…and maybe that's a good thing, because getting caught must be a felony, right?) and she's amazed that she's allowed all of this because when any of her previous boyfriends suggested they have sex outside of a bed, they were all immediately rebuffed. She's not sure she's ever rejected Jack's advances, hence her current situation: shyly putting her underwear back on after Jack hands it to her with a smug smile on his face.

"So you're still good at sex." She sighs contently, her head lolling back in the seat after he underwear is back on its rightful place on her body.

"Only a year has passed since we've seen each other, Lemon. My skills could not have deteriorated so quickly in such a short period of time."

Liz's brain is too sluggish to come up with a quip in response, so instead she hooks her arm around Jack's and cuddles against him. Her action causes Jack to flinch, and she immediately distances away from him, embarrassed that she overstepped some sort of unspoken boundary. "Sorry. I just assumed cuddling was okay." She murmurs quietly.

Jack shakes his head. "It is. You surprised me is all."

Despite her hesitation, he then pulls her so she's flush against him, her head securely tucked under his chin. And even though she's incredibly comfortable, she is unable to relax. Because within a few moments they'll be at her place and she doesn't know what the hell is supposed to happen then. And, also, she really doesn't want to part ways now, because if they do she'll kinda feel like his dirty limo-sex prostitute.

"So…what happens now? What's typical post-limo sex protocol? Am I supposed to invite you up?"

Frowning at her wording he asks, "Do you _want _to invite me up?"

"Oh, yeah. A lot." She nods, wide-eyed and emphatic.

He smiles. Tucks a stray strand of hair that's come undone during their activities behind her ear. "Then I will come up."

Jack barely has the opportunity to register what the lobby of Liz's building looks like, because he's too busy fondling her and kissing every inch of exposed skin he has access to. After the seemingly interminable elevator ride, Liz eagerly drags Jack down the hallway to her apartment. When they reach her door, Jack grabs her clutch and carelessly rummages through it so he can locate her keys.

"Didn't your mother tell you it's impolite to look through a woman's pocketbook?" She teases, her arms dangling around his neck as he unlocks her door.

"The contents of your purse are not a secret to me. Besides, my goal is to get you naked and in your bed as quickly as possible."

"Awesome, because that's my goal too." When they enter her foyer, she turns so her back is too him and points at the zipper on the back of her dress. In an attempt to be alluring, she glances behind her and says, "Well, what are you waiting for? This dress isn't going to unzip itself."

When she hears Jack groan in response, she congratulates herself for being somewhat sexy. Her eyes close and she sighs in relief when she feels Jacks hands slowly glide the zipper down.

"I may have been an unsatisfactory boyfriend," he rumbles against her ear, "but at least I was able to cure you of your ridiculous sexual phobias."

Liz pulls back hastily after hearing his comment and whirls around so she's facing him. "Boyfriend?"

"Was I that horrible to you that you didn't even consider me as one?" His tone is light, but she can tell that her surprised reaction has wounded him.

"I…I didn't know we were dating." She stammers.

"You're kidding." He stares at her incredulously. "We spent three months having sex. _Daily_."

"Since when has that ever constituted a relationship in your world?"

"We spent every waking moment together, Liz. Good God, do you honestly mean to tell me that you didn't know how much I adored you?" When he asks the question, his bravado and overwhelming arrogance has seemingly vanished. Liz doesn't think she's ever broken man's heart (Dennis doesn't count), but when she sees the pained look on Jack's face she realizes that's exactly what she's inadvertently done.

"Jack…I'm so sorry. I really didn't know you felt that way. I didn't know you could feel that way about _me_." She tentatively extends her hand so she can rest it on his shoulder, but Jack brushes it away.

"I certainly don't want your pity, Liz." He replies curtly.

"I'm not pitying you." She frowns. "You should have said something. You know I'm an idiot when it comes to relationships."

When she attempts to touch him again– she uses both hands to rest against his chest – and this time he doesn't resist her. In fact, his hands cover hers and he exhales when he bends down so his forehead rests against hers.

"Liz," He whispers, his voice languid and drowsy from the alcohol, "I've made peace with the fact that you obviously never felt what I felt. I don't have much time left in LA, can we please just focus on enjoying what little time we have left together?"

A large part of Liz wants to object to his claim, she certainly _did _feel a lot for him – still does – but she's not sure how to articulate those feelings or if she is something he even still wants anymore. Well, obviously he still wants her physically. But if he truly has moved on, she doesn't want to make things worse by forcing him to talk about emotions he's buried some time ago. So instead, she resolves to make this a sweet and memorable night for the both of them.

"You're right." She smiles, letting her lips linger against his cheek. "Do you mind if I take my makeup first though? I feel like I'm wearing some other lady's face."

"Not at all. I want you to be comfortable." He steps back, but points a finger at her warningly. "But no slaklets."

She leads him to her bedroom and before she enters her bathroom to remove her makeup, she turns on the stereo and cues up some Miles Davis. When Jack hears the seductive, jazz sounds permeating the room, he automatically smirks at Liz's uncharacteristic choice of background music.

"Just trying to be a little romantic. Thought it would offset the raunchy limo-sex." She shrugs shyly. "Is that okay?"

"Of course. I've always been one to appreciate romance." He answers quickly, obviously pleasantly surprised that she's treating their night as something more than two ex-lovers reuniting out of convenience.

"I know." She grins, before casually pointing to her bathroom. "I'll be right back."

After a few minutes, she emerges from the bathroom feeling more alert and fresh-faced. Washing away all the gunk the makeup artist applied to her face earlier that day seems to have sobered her up a bit and she now feels like she can truly appreciate whatever will transpire between the two of them.

When she sees Jack with his eyes closed, sprawled across the middle of her bed, clad in only his boxers she can't help but smile at how familiar and appropriate it feels for him to be there. She slowly approaches the bed, careful not to wake him and gently strokes his cheek with the back of her hand. Right before she is about to crawl into bed beside him, Jack surprises her by playfully grabbing her wrists and flipping her onto her back.

She giggles at the unexpected "attack" and finds herself looking up at him reverently. This time, she doesn't attempt to look away or make a joke. She knows what she feels. And after looking into his eyes, she's pretty sure he's on the same page.

"So. No make up." She grimaces, pointing to her bare face. "Is your penis still into what it sees?" He chuckles and deliberately presses himself against her thigh, his body silently answering her question. "Wow. Okay. That's a yes."

Later, between the alcohol and two rounds of vigorous sex, it doesn't take much for the two of them to quickly surrender themselves to sleep.

Liz is the first to wake up. Rays of sunshine are just beginning to illuminate her room and Liz is too busy focusing on the fact that she slept with Jack – twice! – for her to even think about her hangover. She can't help but stare at him sleeping peacefully beside her, this man who has been so many things to her, and it is then that she realizes that she doesn't want to go another year without him being a part of her life. She wants him back. And the way she's currently curled up against him makes it clear to her that she doesn't just want him back as a friend either.

"Lemon?" Jack asks groggily. "Were you watching me while I slept?"

"Yes. But not in a creepy way, I swear." He blinks up at her a few times, giving himself a few moments to become more alert.

"Staring at a sleeping partner is only 'creepy' if one is planning a murder attempt. I'm assuming that's not something you're contemplating." He slowly sits up so he's resting against the headboard and uses his other hand to tenderly caress Liz's arm. "What's wrong?"

"I think…I think I want another shot at being your girlfriend." Jack's eyebrows fly up at her declaration, but before he can speak, she continues. "I'm sure I'll do a better job at it since I'll be fully aware that we are actually dating this time."

"You were never a bad girlfriend…" He begins, but Liz gently places her hand on his lips to prevent him from speaking.

"Please let me finish, I've been thinking about this all night." When Liz removes her hand, his smile encourages her to continue her speech. "You were wrong about curing me of my sexual phobias. I still have them – just not with you. I hate having sex with anybody else. But with you…it's different. That has to mean something, right? Although you have amazing sex all the time, so maybe it doesn't mean anything…"

"Liz…"

"I love you and want to try again. And you have to say yes. Well, you don't _have to _say yes." She cringes and covers her eyes in embarrassment, she's never been good at expressing her feelings and she's really mucking up this whole romantic declaration of love thing. "I sound like a crazy desperate weirdo, don't I?"

He places a soft kiss in her hair and answers calmly, "No, you sound like someone who knows what she wants."

"Well, I do know what I want. I want you. If you still feel for me what you used to."

He's studying her seriously and for once Liz is desperate to know what he's thinking.

"Do you understand what you're asking for, Liz? We'd have to have a long distance relationship. You wouldn't be able to just walk away from the show. I certainly can't move to LA."

"I know." She whispers quietly, but still certain. "But I think we can make it work. I think we owe it to each other to try. And you know you can trust me. It's not like I'll be banging other dudes behind your back."

"Infidelity was never a concern of mine." He answers cautiously. He continues stroking her skin as he considers her carefully. The silence between them is almost too much for her to bear, but she doesn't want to pressure him. So instead, she settles for looking at him expectantly, before he lets out a breath and nods. "Then we will try again."

"Really?" She asks, her smile lighting up her entire face. He answers by gently cupping her face and letting his lips collide with hers passionately. Unfortunately, it is no surprise to her that the most romantic moment of her life is interrupted by her stomach growling.

"Hungry?" He asks, quietly chuckling against her skin.

"Always." She replies. "Wanna get breakfast?"

"For my girlfriend? Anything."


End file.
